


trueman

by luxuror



Category: Mother : EarthBound Zero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:58:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuror/pseuds/luxuror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"shabby" that's my name you gave me a name well thank you now i'm free</p>
            </blockquote>





	trueman

**Author's Note:**

> Angry Ninten is what I write when I feel down. 
> 
> I thought about Hekkushun writing this. Ninten would love Radwimps, all gentle and violent facets of it.

Detention, suspension, expulsion. Explosion, implosion, destruction.

"Well, that'll mark the third time I'll have to move schools."

Skin. He's picking the skin off his knuckles, raw. His throat is raw. It's burning. It's all burning. And he can remember it.

He remembers it, he wants it again, but being addicted to inflicting pain is quite—

\--

What exactly did that kid say? "You're a loner because you're not MAN enough." Something to that extent. That stupid extent.

"You know why your dad left you and your mom? Because he found someone better. You know why your dad doesn't come home? Because your mom can't make him happy. You know why your dad LEFT YOU AND YOUR MOM?! BECAUSE YOU'RE A BITCH, NINTEN!"

God, and he would've loved to ignore it more than anything else.

When you're about to beat someone up, you have to check that people aren't immediately going to stop you before you get even a fistful of face in.

Luckily, she's all turned around, and this asshole's henchies probably aren't as fun to punch in the face than the leader. Besides, Ninten loves a good show, more than anything, anyone, and in video games he chooses to ignore all distractions and beat the boss as soon as possible.

It doesn't matter that he's underleveled or if the quests could help, if a slight grind gets him somewhere that's all he'll do. The honest way. The Ninten way.

"Aww, little baby can't say anything because he knows it's the truth."

"S'at so, s'at what you think?"

God, his voice slurs a little because he's so nervous. The saliva drips from his mouth and he lisps. It's so bad. Not intimidating at all. Ninten wipes it off with the back of his hand and he clears his throat. Meaner. Bigger.

"I'm not really good at talking, so I guess I'll just let this do all the work for me."

And yet, his voice comes out quieter than he wanted it to. But the meaning is clear. Did Ninten capture 'quiet but deadly' like he wanted it to? He wanted to be like a scorpion. He likes scorpions. He thinks poison is cool.

His hand flicks his hat on and backwards (since he might as well go full on naughty for multiple accounts, and it would be cool if he got a title like The Red Crimson Hat of Death— c'mon, it's cool to beat someone up with a hat on) and he glances at his teacher, who is helping some girl with math.

Could she calculate this? Yes she could, probably from his school history.

Flesh. Flesh. It's tougher than it seems. Ninten feels like he didn't hurt him at all, punching this asshole in the throat.

"GRAAAAAAH!!"

The chairs go flying, making that screeching noise that comes from when you push your chair out to sit down. A symphony of sound, dissonance. Ninten knows he got just half of one problem done before all this shit started, but who cares. Who cares right now, there are more important things.

It feels all so slow. Ninten's eyes are locked on his, which are hilariously bugged out in surprise. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees papers flying, and looks of horror. Capture this moment, a picturesque moment.

"Hah!"

The kid's head slams on the ground hard, though Ninten knows it isn't cracked open or anything. The chair cushioned his fall before sliding out from under him.  
And Ninten can't breathe. This is too much, all too much at once.

"Well, I hope that said something," he wheezes, his hand searching the back pocket for his inhaler. "I hope it hurts."

"Ha, that pansy punch of yours? Not at all."

He sounds like he's in pain, but that shiteating grin is in full effect.

"My dad taught me that liars get electrocuted," Ninten replies, wheezing painfully. His eyes are stinging and his throat is burning. It hurts like hell. And his hand is clumsy, but looking back to get it out would get his skull skewered by the corner of the table, he knows. Ninten knows that people his age can kill.

All the while, he's grinding his nails into his cheek, hard. Blood gets under his nails a little bit. The kid is finally acting like he should be. Scared.

There it is. Ninten puts the inhaler between his lips and—

SMASH!

Gross. It's so gross to feel someone's teeth against your knuckles.

Ninten's teeth dig into the inhaler and he breathes. He can breathe again. In a flash, it's over by the side. He won't need it again, he knows. His teacher will come over faster than when another attack will come.

"Does it hurt now? Take it back. Take back what you said about my dad!"

Ninten sounds less angry than he thought. Tears and blood and cuts make up his bloody knuckles on both hands. A circulation of punches, like how the animes do it. When they pin them down and punch and punch until the other is dead.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"No you AREN'T!"

There's a little oomph in that "aren't", as he feels a tooth break in from his fist. Where is she? Where's the teacher? Who cares.

"My dad's out working unlike yours because he's too lazy and stupid!"

He feels an eyeball cave in as he punches him in the eyes. Like whack a mole.

"So don't say shit about my dad!!"

And then he's raised by the arms, pulled back fast. His throat is tight again, but not because of an attack.

Ninten is crying.

"Don't... Don't say that about him..."

The kid's henchies raise him up and he stares at him through swollen eyes.

Quiet. And afraid.

"You'll explain this to your mom, right?"

"Yeah, she'll get it. It's the third time now."

And once again, he's the quiet little boy with no power.

  
\--

  
He's picking off the skin from his knuckles which burn against the alcohol.

"Why... does it feel good?"

He can't help but ask, staring at his lamp.


End file.
